


Halfsies?

by littlemissvincentvega



Series: Reservoir Thots [42]
Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Heist, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 14:44:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20083939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemissvincentvega/pseuds/littlemissvincentvega
Summary: fic from a few prompts from a list i reblogged on tumblr (originally by @spettrocoli) that one of my bbys asked me to do for mr brown!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ♥♥♥♥





	Halfsies?

**Author's Note:**

> THIS FLITS IN TIME BACK AND FORTH LOL bc im dumb so hopefully yall can understand my fucking drivvel

You lean back in your seat, lightly tipping your cigarette ash into the ashtray. With the exception of Brown and Pink, you & the guys are enjoying a smoke after a pretty good haul from the heist you’d managed to pull off that morning. You cock your head at Brown, whose gaze is on you. “Is there a reason you’re staring at me?”

“Oh, sorry, yeah, Miss Crimson,” he chuckles nervously.** “I’ve never seen you wear a dress before. **That’s all.”

A flattered smile growing on your lips (you like the attention the boys always give you), you look down at your outfit. Having acted as bait for the heist, Eddie had taken you to get an appropriate dress. You had decided on a blood-red cocktail dress that had hugged your curves in all the right places in the changing rooms. It didn’t hurt that it matched you alias, too! “That’s a strange insult,” you tease, smirking at him.

“What? No– nonono!” he gasps. “I didn’t mean it like– I just meant, y’know, that–”

Pink sniffs. “Spit it out, Brown, Jesus _Christ.”_

“–it just looks really cute on you, you look really nice, that’s all I meant!”

You smile at him, taking a drag from your ciggy. “I know what you meant,” you giggle, “I was just messin’ with you. Thanks, babe.” He blushes at you calling him that, even though it’s just a bit of flirty banter. You do it with all of the boys; even Pink sometimes appreciates it.

-

Panting, you stumble down the street as quickly as you can, eyes fixed on the olive-green vehicle parked on the curb. Adrenaline rushing through your veins and a breeze rushing through your hair, you yank the car door open, jump into the back seat and, before Pink can shut it behind you, the vehicle speeds off. As Brown sends the car swerving round the corner, Mr. Pink sets the briefcase full of cash at his feet. “Nice work, you,” he comments. You go in for a high-five and (surprisingly) he obliges.

“We’re goin’ to that abandoned shack down Victoria Avenue, right?”

“Christ, Brown, who’s the fuckin’ getaway driver here?” Pink frowns, shaking his head. “_Yes, _it is.”

“Hey, man, chill, I’m just makin’ sure! Crimson, you did great.”

“You didn’t even see me in there!” you giggle. “Thank you though, sweetie.”

He smiles at you through the rear-view mirror and concentrates on driving. Luckily, the cops hadn’t arrived when you were fleeing the scene, and hopefully they still weren’t there. There had been a fair few prank calls from the local fuckhead teenagers lately, so it wouldn’t surprise you if they assumed it was another one of those. “Do you think we’re gonna go to Joe’s bar after?”

Pink rolls his eyes. “I think there’s more important shit to be worryin’ about in this moment in time, man. Y’know, like getting to the fuckin’ rendezvous alive? That’d be fuckin’ helpful.”

“I was only asking–”

“Ladies, ladies,” you interrupt, trying to diffuse the argument before it spirals out of control like it usually does. “Pink, stop being a miserable cunt, and Brown, focus on getting us there. We’ll find out when we get there, okay?”

“Okay,” Brown mutters. Pink gives you the side-eye and rests his cheek against his hand, sulking. You’re not offended, though; sometimes he needs to be told. Sighing, Brown takes one hand off the wheel and rolls his window down, the breeze hitting you nicely. It’s a warm morning.

-

As the three of you sneak into the shack, you decide to make small-talk. Not small-talk, just not heist-talk. That usually doesn’t do anyone any good; not when those two are in the same room. “You guys have any nice plans for this week? Y’know, assuming we get out alive and well?”

Brown shrugs and looks at you, his mind seemingly elsewhere. He usually daydreams, and you can usually tell, though just not what about exactly. “I was thinking of goin’ to the arcade downtown,” he finally says, staring into space, “but I got no one to go with. So I dunno.”

“That’s probably ‘cause grownup professional men don’t do childish shit like that,” Pink scoffs, his hand stuffed into his trouser pocket, presumably trying to locate his Zippo.

“Shut up, man, arcades are fun!”

“You need to lighten the fuck up, Mr. Pussy,” you smirk, and he stops fumbling around for his lighter and places his hands on his hips, looking at you offended.

“Who asked _you?” _he huffs, looking you up & down like a bitchy schoolgirl. You can’t help but stifle a giggle at that. Sometimes he’s so dramatic it hurts.

Mr. Brown shares a playful smile with you then digs out a candy bar from the inside pocket of his jacket. “You wanna go halfsies?”

“Sure.”

Pink rolls his eyes at you two as you scoot over to Brown and pipes up. “I gotta take a piss, I’ll be right back.”

“What a lovely thought,” you reply, shaking your head ever-so slightly. You and Mr. Brown lean against the wall of the shack, not bothered about the mucky floor. The tip of his tongue pokes out between his lips as he unwraps the bar of chocolate and you watch him in admiration, unknowingly growing a smile.

He hands it to you for the first bite and you grin at one another as you take the first bite, the sweet chunk melting a little at the warmth of your tongue. God knows how long that bar had been in his pocket, but it still tasted good to you. Not even a minute passes and you two have demolished the snack– who could blame you? “Thanks,” you smile, looking up at him to meet his gaze and spotting a brown smudge just beside his lips. You nudge him and giggle. “You’ve got a little somethin’.”

Brown looks utterly perplexed. “What?”

Shaking your head, you lean over and wipe the chocolate off with your thumb and he watches you in complete awe. “You had chocolate on your face,” you giggle, and a grin appears on his lips as he realises.

“Oh, oops. Thanks.”

After wiping the chocolate from your thumb with a tissue (you always keep an emergency pack on you), you return your gaze onto him. His cheeks are pinker than Eddie’s when he’s laughed for ten minutes over a dumb joke.** “Is there a reason you’re blushing like that?”**

“Like what?” He seems to be zoned out staring at you.

“Like that,” you say, prodding him between the eyebrows.

Before he can protest, Mr. Pink comes back from his bathroom break, cigarette between his lips and zippo in his palm. “Longest piss I ever took,” he remarks, pacing slowly in front of you both and craning his neck forward to light his smoke.

“Spare us the details,” you sigh.

Brown can’t help himself but press further. “Where’s the little boys room?”

“Eh, there isn’t one, dumbass. I just pissed in a bush outside.”

“Oh, Pink,” you shake your head. “I’m gonna go see if they’re nearby, I’ll be back in a minute.” With that, you meander over to the doorway, wooden slats letting glimpses of sunlight into the shack.

-

“C’mon, let’s get you home,” you sigh, Brown’s arm slung around your shoulder. His other one is around Orange’s, but he’s pretty tipsy as it is. Sure, Mr. Brown hadn’t smoked with the rest of you (except Pink, though you’re sure he sneaked out to have one at some point) but he’d had plenty to drink. And by plenty you mean not much. He’s a lightweight. “Orange, walk in a damn straight line!”

“Oh, sorry baby,” he mumbles, throwing you a salute, eyes half-lidded. He’s probably the quietest of the group; just not when he’s had a drink.

Going to Joe’s bar may not have been the smartest idea considering everybody but you and Mr. White got absolutely hammered in the span of about two hours, but you weren’t gonna complain. You had fun. “Just a few more feet, let’s go,” you urge, and you & Orange manage to drag Brown into the backseat of the getaway car. “Alright, you get in too,” you say to Orange, then motion for Pink and Blonde to join. You figured you’d save White (and Joe for that matter) from Ed & Blonde’s drunken antics.

Blonde sits slumped in the front with you and, after lots of boozy ‘goodbye’ yells, you set off to take each of them home. Over at one of the stoplights, you peek in the rear-view mirror and smile to yourself– both Pink and Brown are resting their heads on Orange’s shoulders, eyes lightly closed. For once they actually look peaceful, it’s a breath of fresh air from all the bickering you’re used to. “I ever told you how pretty you are?” Blonde asks, nudging you.

“Yes, sweetie.”

He looks lost. “Oh.”

“Just let me drive,” you chuckle, continuing your journey to his place. Your memory is a little foggy since you haven’t visited in a while but you’ve a good idea of where abouts it is. “Close your eyes for a bit, we won’t be long. Almost home now.” He mumbles an incoherent ‘mmkay’, rolls down the window a touch and rests his chin on the door. 

It doesn’t take too long to pull over at his place, a rather luxurious-looking townhome. “Here we are,” you say, tapping Blonde’s shoulder gently. He stirs but shakes his head, his eyes stubbornly closed. With a smile, you get out of the car and walk round to his side, opening his door for him. He almost falls out of the damn thing. In fact, if he would have, he’d have smacked his face on the pavement. “Come on, it’s time for bed.”

Blonde grumbles as you help him out of the vehicle but complies nevertheless. You help him stagger up to his front door, help him unlock it and help him inside. A lot of helping involved. Anyway, you manage to get him to bed (he flopped on it and almost threw up) and return to the car having locked him safely inside, of course. Honestly, these dumbasses cause you so much grief but they’re worth it.

“Where you been at, sweet thing?” Orange coos, hoisting himself forward so his head’s sticking over the front seat.

“The grocery store.”

He gasps. “Did you get any snacks?”

“No sweetheart, I didn’t buy anything,” you smile, starting the engine and pulling off once again.

-

It’s close to an hour later when you finally arrive at Mr. Brown’s place, a messy apartment full of endless crap. Pink was easy (but grumpy) to get to bed, Orange kept trying to run back to the car when you were doing your best to get him in his apartment complex and Brown was surprisingly quiet. You had had to support him over to the elevator, him almost keeled over, and only just managed to get him to his bathroom in time for him to throw up. Delicious.

“That’s it sweetie, get it all out your system,” you encourage, patting his back as he hurls. “Lovely, that smells lovely.”

He can’t help but giggle as you say this, spitting the remains of vomit from his mouth into the toilet. His breathing is calming now, thankfully. “You feeling okay?”

“Mhm,” he nods, staring down at the mess. 

“Alright, just–” you dab at his mouth with a tissue and help him sit upright against the bathroom wall. “–just let me flush the toilet, okay?” You do so as he wipes his mouth with his sleeve. Christ, you’re sure some of that candy bar is in the toilet right now.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetie. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods, tossing the bit of used tissue into the toilet. “I just don’t wanna stay here by myself tonight, I rewatched The Exorcist the other night and–”

You chuckle at his dumb antics. Typical of him to do that. “Brown, chill out. You’ll be okay. Come on, let’s get you to bed, huh?” you say soothingly.

He agrees and you give him a hand to stand up, stumbling against you to his bedroom. It’s full of movie posters, stacked up VHS tapes, peeling wallpaper and piles of clothing over the floor. “Wow, nice room,” you observe, helping him onto the bed.

“Thanks, I made it myself.”

“You made your room?” you smile, fishing a blanket from the floor and tossing it over him. “Don’t you mean you decorated it?”

Brown looks up at you, eyes narrowed in confusion. “That’s what I said!” He’s obviously still a little tipsy; it’s cute.

“Alright, alright,” you say, perching yourself on his bed. “Will you be okay if I go home now, sweetie?”

“No.”

You weren’t expecting that response. “…No?”

“Can’t you stay?” He sits up as he says this, a hint of panic in his eyes. Maybe he hadn’t been joking about being too scared to stay there alone. As you pause, trying to think of a response, Brown looks at you with the eyes of a petrified child. **“Sleep over? Please?”**

-

It’s the next morning (or should I say midday?). Brown is still dozing and you’re up & about, admiring his place. It’s just what you had expected– not too clean, not too dirty. Now you think about it, you and Brown are probably the closest in the group but you’d never visited his place before. 

Lost in your thoughts, you wander to his kitchen, taking in the dirty pots & pans sitting beside his sink. There’s toast crumbs on his tiny dining table (he lives alone, why bother with a normal-sized one?) and the kitchen roll slightly unravelled. It looks as though he had attempted to wind it back up and failed horribly. That’s something to ask him about once he gets up! You grin at the thought and proceed to poke around the cupboards looking for something to eat when you hear footsteps.

“Crimson?”

You spin around, hand still on a cupboard handle. “Brown! Good morning!”

“Morning,” he smiles, rubbing his eyes. He yawns and cups his hand over his mouth. “What’cha doing there?”

“Just robbing you. I was gonna take off with these–” you squint at the box in your hand. “–these outdated pop tarts. Yum.”

A grin grows on his face despite how tired he looks from last night. “Oops,” he chuckles. “Can we do breakfast though? Please? I’m starving.”

“I don’t blame you, you must have thrown up a week’s worth of food last night,” you reply, stuffing the pop tarts back in the cupboard. “What’re you wanting to eat? I’m good with anything.”

“Pancakes? Bacon? _Maple syrup?!”_ His eyes light up more with each suggestion.

“YES! You get the ingredients, I’ll sort out the stove.”

Brown nods and does just that, and a minute later you’re standing side-by-side in front of the saucepans. He lays a few strips of bacon down, a satisfying sizzling following it, and you take care of the pancakes. Breakfast doesn’t take long to cook. Although Brown is usually chatty (too chatty that nobody can shut him up), the two of you manage to make breakfast without having to say a word. It’s just pleasant. The kitchen lit gold from the morning sun and the just-right warmth hugging you both, not to mention the smell of the food. It’s just good company in a wonderful environment.

“Voila, bon appetit,” he grins, waving his hands around to mock Pink.

You giggle and swat at his hand. “Siddown! I’m hungry. It smells too good.”

“Wait, wait,” he says, and before you can object he vanishes out of the room. You begin cutting up a pancake anyways– he’s not the type to get offended by that shit but then again neither are you. A minute later he returns with a pathetically small tealight and a gas-lighter, setting it between yours & his breakfasts and lighting it. You can’t help but stifle a laugh.

“What the fuck is that?”

“S’a candle. It makes us look fancy.”

“If you say so,” you smile, tipping some maple syrup over your pancakes. He takes a seat and tucks in, having already drowned his own breakfast in syrup. The two of you continue to chat about the events that transpired the previous day (this mostly consists of bitching about Pink being a miserable cunt) when he suddenly looks up at the candle and then to you. “Wait… **are we on a date right now?”**


End file.
